Laws of the Heart
by The-Lone-Lemon
Summary: The laws of Gondor have been left in the hands of the Steward and do not uphold justice as the Kings intended. Lothiriel finds herself at the mercy of one such law. Her solution will pull the new king of Rohan into a web of danger that neither expected. It could also lead to a discovery of great beauty, if fostered with care. RE-Posted edited Ch 1!


First time LotR writter here! I actually have not been reading LotR fan fiction for long, but I think my new addiction are stories of Eomer and Lothiriel. I love that they can be what ever I imagine, and can still stay within cannon.

With that out of the way, I do not own Lord of the Rings and these are not my characters! Please read and let me know what you think!

Laws of the Heart Part 1

The vast hall of Merethrond spread before him as the great oak doors pushed in wards. Filled with the nobility of Gondor, there were many who stared openly at his entrance. Tall, broad and blond, Eomer, King of Rohan made no apologies for his differences, or his newness to the throne of his people. He had not technically been accepted as King until he sat his first full day in the hall of Meduseld and withstood any who chose to appose his rule. Those problems he faced were of the particulate set that belonged only to his kingdom, indeed there was a complete other set of difficulties that fell solely with the realm of Gondor and his allegiance to the pledge of Erol. Eothain, Eomer's second, often reminded him, he could not face more than one of these at a time, and at present there was little he could do but win the trust of the Gondorian nobility. Because sacrificing his King, kinsman and nearly his sister at their door step had not been enough. As if reading his thoughts, Eothain grasped his King's shoulder in a strong hand, lending strength.

Casting his gaze about the hall as he entered, Eomer could spot only two women present at the feast who wore their hair down. Gondorian court tradition dictated only royalty could wear their hair unbound while appearing at court functions. Eothain had told him it was because only royalty wore crowns, and that the late steward Denathor has created law some twenty five years ago, so he could demonstrate the beauty of his wife. Eomer felt it was a silly tradition, especially considering the elaborate and extravagant hair ornaments worn by women whose hair was piled high on their heads. His sister would be one who could continue to wear her hair down as she liked when she returned to court functions on the arm of her future betrothed, not that court traditions could have swayed her anyway.

But his pale gold sister was not amongst the royal women present. One he recognized from her elaborate elven crown, the fine strands of white gold danced in her long midnight locks and he could spot her from this distance at he other end of the hall. Queen Arwen, the elf maiden who now rained as a queen of men. Her beauty would steal the light from a room full of women, even if they all had their hair down.

The other head of long dark hair was much closer, and her crown much less ornate than the queens, but no less arresting.

When she turned to face Eomer as he was announced her clear blue gaze froze his inner thoughts, leaving his body to function momentarily on reflex. The long dark hair under the simple silver circlet was heavy as it flowed over her shoulders in dark waves. The simple pearls set around the circlet glowed against her dark hair and reflected the same soft iridescent peach of her skin.

Eomer's mind being frozen on her, his body had taken its own course in approaching her. Luckily, decorum dictated guests greet the highest ranking women in the room first. Perhaps even that was why the nobility wore their hair down, to give those who are not often at court a chance at following the social expectations. In Eomer's case, it had merely been a happy coincidence that the allure of this woman had not led him to a dangerous social caveat.

Standing by the women's side was a man he knew well, and the sudden resemblance he saw between them gave relief to his frozen mind. Imrahil's daughter. He had just been enchanted by the princess of dol Amoroth.

Her brother Erechirion greeted him warmly embracing his shoulder in the traditional Rohirric greeting for family friend. Erechirion was well met, Eomer returned the gesture and greeted him in the traditional way of the Mark, "Hal Erechirion, son of Imrahil. I am glad for your company tonight."

Eomer waited patiently for the introduction he needed to greet the princess. He quickly asses her physical presence besides him. She was self possessed and her eyes were alights with an odd amount of joy at their impending introduction. Interesting.

"Eomer King, my sister the Princess of Dol Amoroth, Lothiriel. Lothiriel, this is Eomer, King of Rohan. I dare say you have each heard much of the other I'm sure."

Eomer watched as Lothiriel quirked an eyebrow at her brother before dropping into an elegant curtesy.

"Eomer King I fear that half of what my father and brothers have told you is likely a tall tale, though I cannot guess if the honest half has been the good or the bad." She rose then and gave him the most honest smile he had ever received. "Though, from our first meeting, I can be assured that the praises my father and brothers have given to you could be nothing but the truth." She then shocked the gentlemen around her by taking his hand in hers. Lothiriel bowed and pressed her forhead to the top of his large hand the formal greeting of noblewomen of the Rohirrim, " Wes Hal, Eomer King."

Erechirion looked oddly smug, while Eothain was gazing at her in adoration, clearly already planning the wedding. The princess of Dol Amoroth was nothing short of the vision her father had painted for him. The subject or marriage had been discussed in the fields of corralled, though Eomer knew from those talks, imrahil had expressed none of this to his daughter. The terms had been vague, and often only meet suggestions. Lothiriel's name had only been mentioned once durring those talks. Eomer had often brushed is friends council on marriage away, as kingship felt new enough to him. The thought of adding a new marriage to the challenges before him had seemed unwise. That is until recently.

Lothiriel's sincerity in greeting him as one of his people, bringing a custom that was so familiar and so like home to him when he was so removed from the Mark was a gift.

Eomer King took her much smaller hands and lifted them, placing a kiss on the back of each hand in the formal Rohirrim greeting between family friends.

" I assure you, neither your fathers nor your brothers seem capable of telling an untruth, nor of speaking ill, specifically where you are concerned my lady." He relished the color that rose in her cheeks, and Eomer thought she might break eye contact, but she held his gaze.

" Thank you my lord, but perhaps even you have never met Amrothos?"

Eothain, who was particularly a friend of the youngest prince failed to suppress his mirth. Introductions were continued between them and the party agreed the King and his second should join them for dinner.

The begging sod the evening passed well, dinner seated among the kin of Dol Amoroth made for a merry meal. The sons of Imrahil continued to enjoy a close kinship with the King of Rohan, and much of the meal was passed in reflection on the battle and their time spent on the fields of Cormallen. Imrahil himself, in the comfort of the citadel seemed to loosen the leash on his droll humor. It was clear to Eomer, seated next to Lothiriel, that she was every bit her father's daughter. Her own dry wit and sharp mind were often at work, even when she was keeping her thoughts to herself, Eomer could read the intelligence in her deep blue eyes. By the time the last plates had been taken away, he was debated how much he was willing to trade to learn some of her secret thoughts.

Before the court dances began, Lothiriel excused herself from the table, explaining to her company that she had agreed to meet with her cousin in the garden. " it seems Faramir has need of a woman's council." She explained with a knowing look in Eomers direction.

Amrothos found this particularly funny, but Eomer was torn for a moment between joy at the prospect of his sisters future happiness and vexation at the loss of his own. He barely let himself acknowledge the suddenness of that thought. Eomer King bowed to her as she curtsied and took her leave. Lothiriel paused before she left, looking briefly to her father before she asked him to save her a dance.

The thought placated him partly. In Gondor, only someone of your own station could ask you to dance, and it was up to those above you to ask for your hand. The crown on her head and her flowing hair meant she could not be asked to dance by any man in this room save himself, her brothers, her cousin, and King Elessar. These stuffy court rules had always bothered him in the past, but he was finding tonight they weren't perhaps all bad.

After Lothiriel had left the table the men had spoken of naught but the current climate of the world of men. They spoke of the bands of Orcs, Easterlings, and Dunelanders that still ravaged the lands. Leaderless, they were weak. A bothersome problem but not yet a threat. Imrahil worried Elessar would be stalled by court politics and they would somehow unite again under a banner of destruction. Eomer tended to agree, but with the current status of his people so decimated by war, the pillaging of Saruman, and winter nearly upon them he could do nothing to press the matter.

Eomer sighed wearliy and for the first time his friend noticed how tired the King truly looked.

"My daughter will understand when she returns why you could not stay. Please don't feel obligated to deliver on your promise tonight."

The fondness in Imrahil's eyes was welcome and even the concern did not ruffle him as it would coming from most other people. Imrahil was true leader of men, one Eomer hoped to learn much from.

" No my friend, I would not retire early tonight without at least one dance. I may just be suffering from being seated for the duration, perhaps the garden will do me good." As he rose from his seat he spotted Eothain across he room, he princes of Dol Amaroth attempting to teach him the finner points of Gondorian court dancing.

Without disrupting him, Eomer slid easily through the open doors into the dark night air. A calm stillness stretched before him, contrasting heavily with the noise and the brightness of the hall at his back.

Eomer felt the mantle of kingship heavy on his shoulders, and the weight of his dead uncle and wounded sister heavy on his heart. It had only been recently that he could find it in him to celebrate. Even something so joyous as the end of the malicious dark that had haunted his people for so long, he could not seem to find what bound him, of all people, to the role of King.

King. King of the Mark. It had never been something he sought, craved, or even thought of. Up to this point, and still beyond it he could only see himself as Eomer, third Marshal of the Mark, a man cut out for the life of a soldier, not for the kingly duties before him.

Certainly he was not so ill prepared as his mind had convinced him. After all , third in line was not far removed at all from the crown, especially not considering the dark times that had only recently been put behind them. But Eomer was not a man to covet what was rightfully someone else's before him. The crown of Rohan had not been his. He felt it now, sitting uncomfortably on his brow, it was much smaller than the crown worn by Elessar, in Rohan it was really only ever worn on special occasions. He could not help but to feel that it was his Uncle's crown. Theodred's crown.

The solace of the kings garden had seemed the solution to the itchy uncomfortable feeling of being in the wrong skin. The pale glow of the moon cast a deep shadow on the groves, and he felt as he looked unseeing into the dark that this was exactly how his future lay before him; dark and hidden in shadow, with only the pale light of a waning moon to review the path. As King, his future was now the future of his people. That was a much sobering thought.

The dutys of a king were not his first inclination, he had not been bred for it as Theodred had, indeed he had felt often these past weeks the feeling of living the life of another, perhaps even the life his cousin should have had. He couldn't help but wonder if he was treading on fate and destiny and all things that controlled the lives of men by taking up Theodred'slot in life, by taking Theodred's future. The brother of his heart, the cousin who he idolized. But then there were many others who had perished as well. Eomer did not pretend to know how fate and destiny wove those cut threads into the tapestry of life. He could only say that he felt the thread of his own part tied knots, pulling ever tighter and settling further into disarray.

It was then that he heard it. Furious rustling, and the sound of a shriek lasting less than a heart beat before it was cut off by the sound of a resounding slap.

Had he been a good king, he would have informed his guard of his intentions to take the night air, or at least let them see him leaving the hall. But he was alone. And more so than alone, he was also a warrior first. King or not his body called for action.

Darting, stealthy and silent as a wraith, Eomer rounded the small hedge and discovered a pair interlocked in a most intimate manner. If not for the scream he may have not initially interpreted the embrace as violent. The woman grasped helplessly at her attacker seeking any point of weakness. As Eomer got closer he could see her head of dark hair, her pearl adorned circlet askew and glinting silver blue in he pale moonlight. It was Lothiriel.

The man whose back was still to him had not seen him. Eomer felt the fierce stab of rage seeing the mans hand grabbing and clawing at the neckline of her dress, his other hand clapped over her mouth.

With a vicious growl, Eomer grasped the man by the back of his neck and pulled him off, but the hold the man had on Lothiriel was strong and she jerked with him. The surprising sight of him, the fabled barbarian king, tall, blond, and lethal brought shock to he mans dark features and he unceremoniously released the princess. Lothiriel however shared in none of the mans shock, she emidiatly dove for her boot and produced a knife, short but razor sharp. Lothiriel darted around him to try and sink the blade into her attackers stomach. This shocked both men, but she could not reach far enough around Eomer's tall frame.

Relief was clear in the other mans face, and Eomer watched the shifting smile in his eyes as the fear faded away. His voice was smooth and wet, it clung to Eomer's ear in a way that made him feel unsure if he could trust anything the man said or did.

"Eomer King I must thank you for your interruption, it would seem my betrothed and I had let ourselves get carried away."

The shriek of outrage that followed behind him whipped any doubt from Eomers mind that the man was lieing.

The venom in the Lothiriel's voice behind him rekindled Eomer's rage to white hot fire.

"You lie you vile snake. These past months you have hounded my every step and now with my uncles death you sought to rape me into my marriage bed. I would kill you were it not for the man between us!"

Eomer did not doubt it, and felt strongly, and oddly for he had not even known Lothiriel longer than dinner, that he would kill this man for her. In an instant he had the sensation of the threads of his life pull, and for he first time they did not tighten the knots closer to thier perpetual tangle.

"Allow me to take up your case my lady." Eomer moved to draw his sword and would have gladly laid this man low, for any man who preys on women did not deserve to walk free.

Half way from its scabbard his sword was halted by the arms of Lothiriel wrapped tightly around his own. " You mustn't my lord, for you to draw swords here would be blasphemy!"

Lothiriel was right of course, a foreign King drawing arms in the gardens of Gondor would not be easy for Aragorn to explain away. But the pause it offered the attacker gave him ample opportunity. The man slipped out his own knife and darted forward, then away with a cry. Lothiriel had lunged as well, but hadn't touched the other man, Eomer had not felt he bite of the mans knife, and for a moment considered following him, but Lothiriel who had lunged after him had sunk to the ground shaking. Eomer could not leave her like this.

Looking down he could see the faint outline of fingers just above the sloping neckline of her gown. Her words came back to him in a rush " You would rape me into my marriage bed." In that instant Eomer fought tunnel vision his rage was so fierce.

"Was this as far as he touched you?" The anger in his voice did not surprise Eomer, but the deep concern and true white hot rage he felt looking down at her was a little unsettling. He was a man of war, had seen this exact scene more times than he ever cared to count and it never failed to bring out the worst in his temper. But why was his voice raspy with concern? Why did the sight of her pale and abused flesh stir something so deep in him?

Lothiriel's voice shook as she looked up at him for the first time, and he was struck by pale blue eyes so soft and trusting, with a hard glint he would be able place any where after having rode with 4 very simulare sets these past weeks. Even now, there was no mistaking the resemblance to her brothers or her father.

"No, he did not. Tell me, I've never been sliced by a knife before, should it hurt this much?"

The flowing sleeve of her dress was red and sodden with blood, the mans knife having sliced deeply across her upper arm.

Eomer dropped besides her and emediatly applied pressure, now wishing he had brought his guard.

"How in Arda's name did he cut you?" Up close the blue of her eyes was arresting, in the moonlight her hair shown, and her pale skin made his mouth dry. Her appeal had been magnified by the moonlight, and the soft trusting eyes made his quick temper seethe all the more. But he also noticed the darkening bruise on her cheek and cursed himself for being a man with a temper. He could not let her see how truly angry he was. There was certainly time for that after her father had been told.

His had was sticky with blood, and Eomer noticed how much paler Lothiriel was looking, even in the moonlight. He could not stop applying pressure dispite her winces of pain. Eomer could not hear his guards yet but he knew they must be close to searching for him in the copse of trees.

When he looked down into Lothiriel's bright blue eyes again, words began to tumble out of her. He could see her worry warring with the pain in her eyes and he wondered what she could still fear with him there by her side. It was too late however to ask, plots of political intrigue were pouring out of the pale princess, who also seemed to be shaking slightly as she held herself together.

"Angorhil was a man sent to my home by my late uncle, I have puzzled out that my uncle feared my father would make me an advantageous match, and then use it to try and challenge his stewardship. That snake has lived in my home these past months, through the time leading up to the war. I am aware of his tactics. He is why I fled to Minas Tirith, despite the war on its door step, and at the the risk of my fathers displeasure. From the months he spent at Dol Amoroth I know his ways. The knife, that lunge, Angorhil planned on attacking you. For what reason I could not answer. But I could not let that man disgrace Gondor by attacking you my lord."

Several things happened all at once and in that moment, those knots Eomer had felt were all pulled loose. For the first time since Theodred's death, he felt as though he were in the right place, at the right time, and with the right person.

There was anger also, how could Imrahim not now of the snake in his midst, a snake preying on his only daughter? The anger never actually left either, Eomer could feel it staying on the surface making his temper quick. But the honesty, sweetness, and sheer impracticality of her last statement had the power to tame it for the moment.

"How is a slip of a girl supposed to protect me, the king of Rohan?" The laughter and surprise were clear in his voice, and he hoped it carried towards the men he could hear a ways away, hopefully his own men.

Lothiriel looked up at him then, her tone sardonic, but unable to mask the growing pain in her voice. "He aimed to gut you my lord. Excuse me if I may, but did this slip of a girl not just take a blow for you?"

Her words brought a flush to his cheeks and he hoped she did not notice. " I would have you not do that again my lady, should any others wish to try."

There flashed in her eyes something bright and fierce, a new emotion that was able to cut through the glaze of pain, like one of the proud mearas cutting across the open planes of Rohan, easily flying across the open grass lands. "None in this city have leave to even speak ill of you my lord, and certainly none shall try again to harm you in any way. I cannot promise that were anyone to try, I would not again act as I have."

Her fierceness arrested him, he continued to hold her arm, her warm blood painting his hands as the stream slowed.

Eomer heard his men coming closer and gave a shout, his eyes never leaving hers.

The guards made to round the corned, and he saw her suddenly shy away from his gaze. Her free hand went to cover herself, and her bruised lip was worried between her teeth for only a second, before the pain was remembered. It would not do for his men to see her like his.

" Eorhain, wait! Turn around and pass my your cloak." Eomer sent her he most reassuring grin he could, she returned it with a shaky smile, one that hinted the true beauty of her face could only be enjoyed when she was truly happy.

He took the cloak, and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Send a man to the hall to find prince Imrahil, tell him I have escorted his daughter home, and I shall be waiting for him there."

Lothiriel looked shocked and tried to persist, " Eomer King there must be many other things you could do with your evening. It is not necessary for you to escort me." She moved to stand and back away, already her proud bearing taking over for her prior timidity.

Eomer would have none of that. He could hear EOwyn's voice in his head telling him he was being brutish and pig headed, as she often did when he found her on the outer walls waiting for their uncle or cousin to return to Meduseld. He treated Lothiriel much as he had treated Eowyn, by scooping her into his arms and ignoring her complaints.

"What sort of man would I be if I let a woman who was just assaulted, who is the daughter of a dear friend, a princess of my greatest ally, and a woman whom find I am growing to admire, walk home alone after such an ordeal."

Though worded as a question, Lothiriel saw it for the the partial rebuke that it was and wisely kept her thoughts to herself as Eomer carried her down through the side garden entrance to the streets below.

Staring up to the plain gold crown resting on his brow and the strong jaw covered in a rough blond main, Lothiriel felt the first stabs of grief. She had survived Angorhil's advances alone for so long. Where any man to learn of what she had let happen, she would never be able to marry a man of her choosing. There would be none who would accept her suit. None accept Angorhil.

Looking at the face of the man who had saved her from a terrible fate, Lothiriel felt for the first time true loss. Eomer had saved her from a fate worse than death, but could not save her from the condemnation of her people. Angorhil would surely fight to get what he wanted, and Eomer's rescue could now only delay the inevitable.

The he tears began to roll slowly at first, before her true loss finally struck her. Eomer held her close and whispered comforting words into her hair, words in Rohirric, deep and soothing.

What would have soother her in any other situation pushed her to weep freely. Eomer only held her closer to him and this nearly broke her spirit. This taste of what she had lost forever, the freedom to pursue love, to find a connection with a man who could make her whole, had been take from her, forever.


End file.
